Denial
by AkatsukiFan0161
Summary: Madara had always been fascinated, no obsessed with Him. He never quite knew why, he just was, He was a part of him, the way they danced on the battlefield, they way they knew each other. He never guessed these feelings were something more. By then it was too late. One-sided Hashi/Mada. Oneshot.


**Sorry, but I had sudden inspiration to do this **

Madara had always been watching him. The way he moved on the battlefield, the way he fought, the way he just seemed to stand out. Something about him was just…different. Ever since their first encounter (in battle of course), he'd been fascinated…no, obsessed was more the word really. Every time they fought it was a dance. It was just them, nothing else really existed, and it was beautiful... This was just their early days on the battle.

_Him…it was always Him…_

They grew older; they matured, as did Madaras _obsession_ with him. Every time he thought he had abandoned these, _these_, strange, _strange_ mix of unexplainable feelings, _feelings_, he would be there. That beautiful long brown hair blowing in the wind. Those strong chiselled features staring back at him, watching _him_. Of course this might just be because he was the leader. Of course, that's what it was. But still…maybe, _just maybe_ it was something more. Maybe these feelings (whatever they were) weren't one-sided…maybe, _just maybe_ they were mutual. Did he obsess like him? Did he find himself constantly thinking about Madara, as Madara found himself constantly thinking about him?

_That was when the Obsession started to get out of his grasp…_

The Senju made peace with the Uchiha. They shook hands, they were friends. It was all lies really, just words on paper. Really it meant nothing. _Really_. This was what Madara tried to tell himself as he sat alone one day. He sat with his head in his hands. It wasn't that he didn't like this new relationship with him; this peace, this ability to meet and talk with him freely. Oh, it _definitely _wasn't that. He just…missed what no one else did. He missed the thrill of the battle. That dance they once did together, the dance where nothing else existed, where it was just _them_. Oh, he missed it. He still couldn't determine _why_ he missed it though, what he felt for _him_, and if _he_ felt those same things back.

_He wanted him…_

The day he figured it out was the day the village was finished. The night, to be exact. The worst and best night of his life. It was those thoughts that came into his mind that started something, some realisation in the back of his head as he stood on that hill, surveying the village with him. Konoha. It was all _his_, really. The villagers thought so to. Despite all he had done, everyone disregarded him, they only saw _his_, only saw his light, forgetting Madara in the dark. And he couldn't blame them. He was as much in awe of _his _light as any of them. Not that he would ever admit that. Not that he would ever admit anything.

That night, Madara had a dream. It was heated, fast, vague, but he knew full well what it was. He also knew _he_ was in it. Madara might have been proud, he might have been ignorant of his own emotions, but he wasn't stupid enough to go into denial. Lust? No, this was something much, much more. Love.

Madara was in love with Hashirama.

Nothing more, and certainly nothing less.

_But he was so proud. Too proud…_

This feeling most definitely was not mutual. Hashirama did not love Madara. This much he could see. And so, knowing full well what was wrong with him now. _Even though no one ever said it was wrong_, Madara watched as his brother, the only person who ever seemed to love him, died; and as the rest of his clan, one by one, betrayed him, he started to sink into despair. Although of course, he portrayed his sorrow as anger. _He was too proud_. When even Hashirama, the love of his life, started standing up for him less and less, he left.

_It was all too much…_

_Hashirama…_

Eventually he forced his love into anger and hate, or so he told himself. He attacked Konoha, Hashiramas village. Not his. He tried to kill _him_ but failed, like he always did. _The one thing he admitted to himself_.

His mind was lost, his sense gone. He loved Hashirama. Hashirama didn't love him. This was all Madara knew, the only thing in his mind since he ever saw him, really. As the light faded from his eyes, some hundred years later (God knows how he kept going that long) he saw _him_. Hashirama. Tears poured from his eyes as he heard _his _voice; _Hashiramas voice_.

_You were always too proud, Madara. Why didn't you accept yourself?_

_Hashirama…_

_I'm sorry…_

**Oh. My. God. I just wrote this all in one go. I just had to. I had a bit of true writer's inspiration and wrote it all totally motivated. I love this pairing too much, I think I'm gonna cry D,:. I haven't given up on my other fic, don't worry I'm actually writing the next chapter now, this is just what I truly wanted to write. Should I do a whole HashiMada fic? You tell me **** Please review. I'm crying for Madara. Really. I'm in tears.**


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